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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23614861">sakusa was</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bastigod/pseuds/bastigod'>bastigod</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, M/M, its gay and poetic what more do you need</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:36:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>483</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23614861</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bastigod/pseuds/bastigod</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sakusa Kiyoomi was an idea. An ideal.</p><p>Not a person. Never a person.</p><p> </p><p>Prompt: Safe/Home</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>183</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Haikyuu, SakuAtsu Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>sakusa was</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sakusa Kiyoomi was an idea. An ideal.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Not a person. Never a person.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He was a porcelain doll on a shelf. All pale, hand-painted skin. Delicate brush strokes lining dark eyes, dotting pinpricks on his forehead, his arms, legs, body. Shiny black mohair threaded into ceramic. When would he tumble off that shelf and shatter into a million pieces?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He was an ancient greek statue. The cold marble form of a glorious god. Hollow eyes, their paint lost to time, now doomed to stare down museum corridors until the end of time. No longer worshipped by priests, only by tourists who look but dare never touch.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He was a planet in our solar system. A gas giant lighting up the sky on rare evenings. A rocky core hidden under layers of danger. Liquid Hydrogen. Diamond rain. Extraterrestrial hurricanes raging through a toxic atmosphere.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He was a butterfly pinned in a glass display. He was a dragonfly in amber. He was a radioactive mass of black corium. He was a venom-dripping viper.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He was to be feared, to be kept at a distance, to be looked at, to never be touched.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>But he was none of those things. Craved to be none of those things. Deserved to be none of those things.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Sakusa Kiyoomi was hair that needed 5 different products to stay shiny and unfrizzy. He was those strands of silver snaking through black, wiry and sentient. He was a disastrous bedhead wrangled into submission.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He was the cluster of freckles on his foot that appeared one summer when he forgot sunscreen. He was the atoll on his forearm that once was a mole, picked at with a fingernail until it scarred and vanished forever.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He was the puckered scar above his waistband where his appendix was removed. He was the battle scars on his chest, a reminder of a certain victory. He was the burn on his wrist from last week's unfortunate pizza incident.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He was the way his ears and the tips of his fingers went red when it was cold. He was the crooked wisdom teeth tucked in the back of his mouth. He was the freaky toes and the bony fingers of his appendages.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He was the divots in his cheeks when he smiled. He was the wrinkles of disgust on his nose when he smelled lavender. He was the intense furrows of his eyebrows.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He was the way his eyes twitched as he slept, pupils tracking the dragons and knights that battled across his closed lids. He was the quiet huff of a laugh from behind a mask. He was the rare and fleeting snort that gave you whiplash.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He was burnt eggs and flawless trays of brownies. He was the bags under his eyes after a long night. He was the soft and steady rise of his chest on early mornings.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>And to Atsumu, he was home.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this was originally posted as a twitfic <a href="https://twitter.com/andraste_/status/1249203527303540739">here</a>. i decided to save it here a. because i am incredibly proud of it and b. it's easier to come back and find.</p><p>this drabble is a love letter to the wonderful folks at the SASS server. thank you all for the inspiration and support and unexpected snippets slid into dms and macaroni and whatever else.</p><p>parting gift to end this great week: there's only a passing resemblance in the finished work, but <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xt0COVzfpwQ">this was one of my inspiration songs</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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